Well, lesson learned.
I couldn’t depend on Weston to protect me. I could decide what I wanted for myself without hiding behind someone else. I could stand up for myself and, at the same time, teach Donovan a thing or two about how to treat women in case he ever did decide to have a romantic relationship again.
Feeling buoyed, I changed direction and headed toward the opposite side of the building right away before I had time to have second thoughts.
Twenty-One
Donovan was standing by his secretary’s desk when I got there, discussing his day’s schedule with Simone. Despite the way my stomach flip-flopped when I saw him in his fitted black Armani, I kept my shoulders back and my head high.
“We need to talk,” I said, stealing Weston’s opening line. Then, without waiting for him to respond, I marched past him into his office.
I didn’t look back, but after a beat, I heard him say, “Simone, hold my calls.”
It took thirty painfully long seconds for Donovan to follow me in, hit the buttons to shut the door and darken the windows, and get situated at his desk.
Meanwhile, I paced, pulling my hair over one shoulder with both hands.
“Go ahead, Sabrina,” Donovan said, making himself comfortable in his high-back leather swivel chair. “Tell me what’s on your pretty little mind.” He said mind but his eyes drifted down my legs, and he made no effort to hide it.
I scowled, but truthfully, it made me a little giddy. Especially when I’d never seen him look at the other women in the office like that, but thinking about that would get me off track so I shelved the giddiness for later.
“Look,” I said as forcefully as I could while continuing to pace the length of his desk. “I can accept that Friday night was a one-time thing, but you—”
He cut in before I could finish. “Do you want it to be a one-time thing?”
I stopped mid-step, my pulse quickening. “That’s not what I said.” My cheeks suddenly felt warm.
“It’s not what you said, but it’s what I’m asking.”
“I don’t. I hadn’t thought.” I was flustered. This wasn’t fair. Another round hadn’t even been on the menu when he’d left the way he did.
And that’s what I was here to discuss—how he’d left, not if I wanted to do more naughty, naked things with the man who’d given me the best orgasms I’d ever had in my life.
I shook my head to clear it of the filthy images that had begun to flood my imagination. “I’m not talking about that right now. Can I just finish what I was saying?”
“Yes, of course. Go on.” He gave me that devilish smile of his. The one that made my panties wet every goddamned time.
Devilish smile or not—wet panties or not—I had a message to deliver, and I was going to get it out if it killed me. Aiming a finger directly at him for emphasis, I said sternly, “You don’t get to leave like an asshole again.”
Phew. I’d said it. And I felt pretty proud about my delivery as well.
Donovan rubbed his chin, considering. “Sex with me isn’t always as easy as the other night, you realize.”
Perhaps my delivery hadn’t gone quite as spectacularly as I’d believed.
More likely, the fault was with my audience. “Are you listening to me?”
I tried to pretend that I hadn’t been listening to him, but part of me definitely had. The part of me that was less concerned with respect and woman’s pride and more concerned with primal needs and wants. There was a lot to question after a statement like that. Sex with him wasn’t always that easy? My head wanted details. My body wanted demonstrations.
“Yes, I’m listening to you. In response, I’m explaining what a continuation of a sexual relationship with me could look like.”
My breasts felt heavy and my thighs felt weak. I threw my hands up in frustration. “But what does that have to do with what I was saying?”
His eyes glinted at me, more green today than brown. “You said ‘again’, Sabrina. Which insinuates you foresee a time in the future in which this would be an issue.”
Was that what I’d really said?
I replayed the words in my mind. “That wasn’t what I meant,” I said hurriedly.
“Wasn’t it?”
I wasn’t sure. Because maybe that was what I meant. What was the point in even correcting his behavior if I hadn’t, on some level, wanted there to be another time?
Still, none of that mattered if he didn’t hear me. “But did you get what I was saying?”
He sighed. “Yes, yes. Don’t be an asshole, Donovan. I heard you.” He swiveled his chair to the side. “Come here.” He used two fingers to summon me.
Didn’t sound like he took me very seriously though. And what he’d done had been a big deal.
Grudgingly, I trudged around his desk and stopped when I was a couple feet in front of him. “You heard me, but will you actually make an effort to change?”
He half-shrugged. “That sort of remains to be seen, doesn’t it? Get on your knees.”
“Remains to be seen? That doesn’t sound very committed.” Without thinking about it, I began to kneel down when my eyes hit the very large bulge in his crotch. “Wait.” I shot back up and stepped away. “Oh, no!”
“Come on.” He stroked his hand along his erection. “Door’s locked. Windows are dark.”
Goddammit. What was wrong with me? I was mad at this jerk, and he had the nerve to try to entice me to suck him off? In his office, no less? This was sexual harassment. This was inappropriate and indecent and such a fucking turn-on that I wouldn’t be surprised if Donovan could smell my arousal from a yard away.
But respect! Women’s lib!
“I’m not going to reward your bad behavior with a blowjob. That’s not why I came in here.” Though every second I stood before him it got harder and harder to remember why I existed if not for him.
“No, you came in here to tell me off. Which you did. More or less. Now we’re moving on. I’m helping you decide whether or not the other night was a one-time thing with another look at what it can be like to have sex with me.”
Donovan’s expression got serious—the kind of serious that said he was on the verge of losing patience, and I’d better listen if I knew what was good for me. “So, like I said before—get on your knees. I’m not going to tell you again.”
I was a girl who knew what was good for me.
Immediately, I fell to my knees.
The office floor was hard, even with the carpet Donovan had under his desk. It was dark brown with a tight pile that rubbed against my knees. It would leave marks if I spent much time there, even through my stockings.
But honestly, I didn’t give a fuck about my stockings. They could rip for all I cared. I was on my knees in front of Donovan Kincaid, and all I could think about, all I wanted was to get my mouth on him.